A Thousand Tiny Moments
by Tonight's The Night
Summary: For every moment a person sees, there are a thousand tiny moments they miss. A series of drabbles featuring the characters of Final Fantasy XII. Requests welcome.
1. Easy Work, The Green Word, Stitches

1\. Easy Work

_ "__It's easy work, and you'll thank me for it someday."_

Oh, how Migelo regretted those words. He peered out the window. He couldn't see the Estersand from here, but the acrid scent of the desert pervaded the city, and he could imagine the jutting cliffs, the hungry eyes of wolves.

"Relax," Tomaj said. "Vaan's seventeen now. He can't be your errand-boy forever."

Migelo's ears flattened. "Age is not the issue. It's his impulsiveness that concerns me."

"He may surprise you. Street kids don't live long without being clever. Still . . ." Tomaj frowned, "you'd probably better check on him."

* * *

2\. The Green Word

The leaves whispered with a hundred tiny voices, a counterpoint to the nearby stream's gurgling. Jote basked in the Wood's song, peaceful, placid . . .

A strand of dissonant notes disrupted the harmony. Her ear twitched as the sweeping melody took on a resentful edge. Something unwelcome had entered the Wood. Humes? Now that she was listening, she could hear the rapid beat of their music among the trees, but that was not what stirred the Wood's anger. Jote recognized notes of abandonment, grief, rage. She knew of only one who could create such disharmony in this place. "Fran."

* * *

3\. Stitches

Vaan sat on the edge of his bed, deftly sewing a hole in Penelo's spare shirt. She watched him work, fascinated. Each stitch was straight and neat, as good as a tailor's, and when he was done, he stowed his supplies to his pack and returned the garment.

"So," Penelo said, "when exactly did you learn to sew?"

"We're orphans. The first thing you learn is that you've got to watch out for yourself." Vaan rolled up his pants, revealing a wound stitched shut with wire. "Besides, it's cheaper than having a healer do it."

"Oh, Vaan . . ."


	2. Madness, Apprentice, Departure

4\. Madness (300 words)

Ffamran sat across from his father, fingers clenched around his dinner fork. His brother and sister occupied the seats next to him. Lucen's hands quivered, and sweat made his gaunt face glisten. Marigan stared, hollow-eyed, at her plate. Compared to most of father's subjects, they'd fared well, but the experiments took their toll.

He alone remained untouched by nethicite's taint, yet that didn't stop it from destroying his life. His father's madness was a river lapping at a dam, wearing away at the wall in its path. One day Cid's last glimmer of sanity would yield to the rushing waters, and Ffamran had no illusions about what would follow.

"Ffamran."

He tensed. "Yes, father?"

"I've decided to make you a judge."

Silence.

"Are you not overjoyed?" Cid asked. "It's quite an honor, and Emperor Gramis approves."

Mutinous thoughts bloomed in his mind. He could ram his steak knife through his father's throat, or smother him in his sleep. It would be a mercy. If his father perished, he would be spared from the madness that had sunk its teeth into him. Death was preferable to that sort of shame. Or it had been, once.

_Death is too good for him. _The thought sprang from the darkest corner of his mind. Ffamran set his fork down, slowly, and rose from his chair. "May I be excused?"

Annoyance flitted across his father's face. "Bah. Go on, then. Ungrateful fool . . ."

He left the dining room, returned to his chambers, and started gathering his things. Within ten minutes, he abandoned his home. Within an hour, he reached the aerodome in Archades. Within a day, he stole an airship and adopted a new name. But it took years for him to repress the vast wellspring of sorrow drowning him from the inside.

* * *

5\. Apprentice

"He is _not _my apprentice."

Basch raised an eyebrow, glancing at Vaan. The little thief stood a dozen paces away, his back straight, speaking to Penelo in an affected accent meant to mimic that of the Archadian gentry. It was aggravating.

"I'm sorry," Basch said, though his eyes twinkled with humor. "He so aspires to be like you that I'd assumed . . ."

"You know what they say of assumptions," Balthier said, lifting his chin imperiously. "He's no apprentice. At best, he's an errand boy."

Basch said nothing, but the amusement in his eyes spoke deeply of his skepticism.

* * *

6\. Departure

"Do you really have to go?"

Reks faltered as he reached for his armor. His brother's uncertainty cut deeper than a dagger. "What choice do I have?" He shrugged. "We're too old to beg."

Shame touched Vaan's face; he hated begging for scraps, but when you had no parents, you did whatever it took to survive. "We don't _have _to beg . . ."

"No, Vaan," Reks said, staring at his reflection in the polished breastplate. "No more stealing. If we got caught, they'd cut off our hands."

Vaan sighed. "You'll come back, though. Won't you?"

"Yeah. Course I will."


	3. Sky Pirate, Fool, Partners

_Author's Notes:_

_As requested by DementoFantasy, a series of drabbles about how Fran and Balthier met._

* * *

7\. Sky Pirate

After his third frantic flight from Archadian sky patrols, Balthier decided it would be wise to acquire a navigator. So when he reached Balfonheim, he found the nearest print shop and asked the corpulent old man behind the desk to draft a help-wanted notice.

"This sky pirate business?" the man asked.

Balthier schooled his expression into a look of scornful disbelief. "What do you take me for? I'm an _entrepreneur_."

"Oh?" The man raised an eyebrow. "Is that why you landed a stolen military prototype in a city famous for its sky pirates?"

A pause.

"Fine, I'm a sky pirate."

* * *

8\. Fool

If there was one flaw Fran could not abide among humes, it was foolishness.

She peered at the scrap of parchment in her hands, one ear twitching in annoyance. What a fool, to post a notice that he was searching for a navigator, then write down where he could be found. The first headhunter to see the notice would skewer him, if an ambitious thief did not get to him first.

Fran sighed. As if she lacked for trouble. She would simply have to correct his foolishness. Even if it took months to disabuse him of his more self-destructive impulses.

* * *

9\. Partners

Even in Balfonheim, viera were a rare enough sight that Balthier was rather surprised when one arrived at his room an hour after he'd posted his help-wanted notice.

"You do not require a navigator," she informed him. "You require a partner."

"Oh? I don't believe—"

"You are a fool," she said. "I will navigate. You will pilot the ship. I will ensure you do nothing to alert the headhunters to our whereabouts. Understood?"

He opened his mouth. Closed it. He liked women who took charge, but . . .

"We leave in an hour," she said. "Make yourself ready."


	4. First Impressions, Enigma, Permanent

_Author's Notes:_

_As requested by FloatingOnCloudNine, a set of drabbles featuring Vaan's early impressions of Balthier (and Fran)._

* * *

10\. First Impressions

"Quite a performance."

Vaan spun toward the voice, alarmed. The man who'd spoken regarded him, eyes alight with amusement, as three details fell into place in Vaan's mind.

One: His accent was Archadian, with a genteel lilt. An aristocrat, maybe. Someone important, at least.

Two: This man lacked the armor of an imperial soldier.

Three: Despite not being a soldier, he had a polished gun at his hip which was superior in every way to the sword Vaan was wearing.

"Who are you?" Vaan asked, because whoever he was, he didn't belong _here_.

"I play the leading man. Who else?"

* * *

11\. Enigma (200 words)

Vaan couldn't help but think he'd encountered the strangest sky pirates in all of Ivalice.

There was Balthier, who evidently had a jewelry fetish, judging by the number of rings he wore. Possibly a gun fetish as well, considering how ridiculously expensive guns were. He'd had no qualms about throwing Vaan off a parapet, but he'd caught him before he could fall to his death, for which Vaan supposed he should be grateful. Or angry. He wasn't sure yet. In the end, Balthier was complicated, but not incomprehensible.

If anything, Fran was the real mystery. Viera weren't all that rare in Rabanastre, but even so, Vaan had only seen glimpses of them. With their sharp hearing, he'd never risked pickpocketing one of them, and until tonight, none had ever approached him. When he _did_ see them, it was always in isolated groups of two or three, and never with humes. Yet Fran conversed casually with Balthier, and Balthier showed only contempt to anyone who slighted her. In battle, they moved in tandem, requiring no words.

It was, Vaan realized, sort of like how he and Penelo got along. On their good days. When she wasn't lecturing him for finding trouble.

* * *

12\. Permanent

"I was not aware you meant to make Vaan your apprentice," Fran said.

To her quiet amusement, Balthier made an undignified noise as he choked on his ale. Wide eyed, he set his cup down with a _thud_.

"Apprentice? Whatever gave you that idea?"

Fran stared. "You've not let anyone onto the _Strahl _save myself since you acquired it. Forgive me for thinking you regarded the boy as a permanent companion."

Balthier stared at her, stupefied. Then, slowly, his expression turned calculating. "I _could _use an errand-boy . . ."

_Poor fool, _Fran thought, mouth edging into a faint smile.


	5. Complications, Trust, Hope

_Author's Notes:_

_This set is for Kuchiki Jeanne, who requested some drabbles revolving around Larsa and Penelo's first encounter in Bhujerba, and for angelbaby1291, who echoed that request._

* * *

13\. Complications

_ What have I gotten myself into?_ Penelo wondered, eyes flickering to Larsa. He _seemed _honorable, but his accent spoke of Archadia, of prestige and power. What would he do if she tried to run?

"Are you all right?"

She stiffened. "I . . . I should thank you. For your help outside the mines. I'd have been arrested if you hadn't spoken up."

A smile touched his lips. "I only hope I didn't complicate your situation. Come. We may speak of it over tea."

Penelo hesitated. She didn't dare refuse, yet she worried. But what choice did she have? "Certainly."

* * *

14\. Trust (200 words)

"Be not troubled. My brother is a remarkable man."

Penelo said nothing. How could she trust the brother of the man who now presided over Rabanastre, who commanded the very soldiers who had so oppressed her? How could she trust Larsa, who shared the same name, the same blood, no matter how kindly he'd treated her?

"He frightens me."

Larsa's gaze fell upon her. Penelo kept her face forward, waiting.

"Why?"

The bafflement in his voice made her throat tighten. Could he really not understand what his brother represented? _No, of course not. They're __family__. _"I'm sorry. He is your brother. It's just—you don't understand how much we lost to the war. My friends. My parents."_ Everything._

"So you fear the Empire?"

She nodded. Abruptly, Larsa came to kneel before her, his expression somber. "Listen to me. The men of my family . . . We are taught to place the needs of others before those of our own. I will see that you are kept from harm," he promised. "It is my duty to House Solidor."

"But how—how can I trust you?"

"Because I give you my word," he said. And to her surprise, she believed him.

* * *

15\. Hope

Ondore watched Lord Larsa and his companion board the airship, a whirlwind of thoughts spinning through his mind. They were a strange pair—the son of Emperor Gramis and an insignificant girl from Rabanastre. He could hardly imagine more disparate circumstances, yet as Larsa extended his hand to help her aboard, Ondore found himself smiling. A nobleman and a commoner from two countries scarcely removed from war, interacting as if they'd known one another for weeks instead of hours. They could hardly be called companions—that required more time—but the bond between them gave Ondore hope for the future.


End file.
